Colors of the Wind
by Bohemian Anne
Summary: Jack, Rose, Ruth, and Cal sail to Virginia in the early 1600's and meet Pocahontas and her tribe.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_London  
Spring, 1607_

"Miss?"

Her young maid's voice rang through the oak door and straight into Rose DeWitt Bukater's ears. Today was the day that she would leave all that was known to her for a new land.

"A moment!" she shouted through the door, feeling her stomach already sink.

Months earlier, she had asked her mother, Ruth, why they had to leave upper class London for the newly founded English settlement of Jamestown. Her mother had replied, "Rose, there is talk of gold. Mountains of it—enough to help us settle the debts that your father left behind."

It didn't make Rose feel any better when Caledon Hockley was introduced into her life. Being seventeen, Rose had been expected to already be married, but she was always too particular, according to Ruth.

At the last social event of the season, Ruth had thrown Cal her way. Rose was admittedly charmed by him. At least, until after the first slap, which had been delivered to her when she had misbehaved. That was how Cal put it to her when the sting had lessened.

Not weeks later, Ruth and Cal arranged for Rose and him to be married. She was given no choice as she accepted his offer. They were to be married at the beginning of the next social season. That is, if the offer for more wealth presented itself. Cal insisted on going, since he felt that Rose's family was worth less than what he could find in Virginia, but her mother, determined to further her status, persuaded Cal to let them travel with him. That was where she was now, standing at the foot of the carriage and letting the footman help her up into its seat.

XXXXX

"All sixes on those dice?" The Italian's voice rose.

"Yeah. That's right," the young man replied, smiling.

"Damn it! You can't do this. It's my only chance!" protested a short, chubby man who sat at the far end of the table.

"Well," the blonde man said. "If your only chance was as good as your bet, then perhaps it's best you don't go!"

The tavern exploded in laughter, and the man ducked as a punch was thrown his way.

"Two tickets," said another man, who stood beside him.

"That's right," the man said.

"Who are you going to take?"

The blonde turned to him. "I was thinking you."

"Me?"

"Yes. What about it, aye, Thomas?"

The two men shook hands as Jack Dawson handed Thomas his ticket.

XXXXX

"Wingapo, Father. I'm so glad you've come home safely," an Indian woman said as she hugged her father.

"Seeing you gives me great joy. Come with me. We have much to talk about."

She followed him into his wooden longhouse and spoke first.

"Father, for many nights now I've been having a strange dream. I think it's telling me something's about to happen—something exciting!"

Her father smiled. "Yes, something exciting is about to happen."

"Really? What is it?"

"Cokoum has asked to seek your hand in marriage."

"Marry Cokoum? But he is so serious."

She looked out the window at the stern-faced warrior.

"Father, I think my dream is pointing me down another path."

"This is the right path for you, my daughter. Cokoum will make a fine husband," Powhatan said.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_Spring, 1607_

_Diary,_

_Today we set sail for the New World. Virginia. I wonder what it will be like there. Surely, it will be nothing like here. No great cities, no charming little towns or open countryside. Just hills and forests full of savages, and, if Mother and Cal can be believed, untold riches. We shall see._

_We are to depart at noon. For the past several days, we have been staying in a rather quaint little inn, our only home since our own home and goods were sold to pay off Father's debts. Mother hates it here, as does Cal, who has been staying here with us, as his own home is too far away for him to stay in while waiting for the ship to set sail. Personally, I find it quite charming, and the quality of the food, though not as rich as what I am accustomed to, is excellent._

_I shall miss London and my friends, and most especially my maid, Trudy, whom Mother let go, and the theater. Still, it isn't forever, and perhaps this journey will bring excitement and adventure—things I've always longed for. And certainly we will go down in the history books, whatever the journey brings. How exciting, to be remembered for something other than our extravagances._

Carefully wrapping her quill pen and ink, Rose tucked her writing tools and her diary into her bag and stood, looking up at the ship. The docks were milling with people, mostly rough men who carried crates and goods to and fro and used rough language that Ruth would have been appalled at. Cal would have been appalled that she had heard such language, although she knew that he used it himself, having heard him use those words and more after his horse had thrown him while hunting foxes in the country.

She smiled to herself. She would undoubtedly be in trouble for this escapade—imagine, a young lady of her status going to the docks alone—but she couldn't stand another moment of Cal's bragging or Ruth's lectures on decorum. Each probably thought that she was with the other, or at least they had when she had slipped out.

A shout from behind her let her know that her whereabouts had been discovered. Cal strode up to her, his face dark with fury.

"Rose, what did I tell you about coming here?"

Rose sighed. Her voice slightly mocking, she quoted, "A young lady does not go to the docks alone. It is much too dangerous, both to her and to her reputation. Only whores parade about the docks—"

She stopped as Cal slapped her. "I told you not to use that word!"

"Which word? Whores?" Rose straightened her back, ignoring the urge to rub her sore cheek. "You asked me what you said about coming here."

"You didn't need to quote me directly."

"Then don't ask me to repeat what you said!"

Cal was tempted to slap her again, but several men had gathered around now, watching the scene with interest. One of them just might come to her aid.

Instead, he took her arm, leading her away. "Your mother has been worrying about you."

"Undoubtedly."

He clenched his teeth, irritated at her mocking tone of voice. "And it's almost time to board. We need to load our trunks into a cart to be brought here. As you can see, it's been very busy, but we'll soon be on our way."

"I don't see what all the fuss is about. Suppose the New World doesn't have what you're looking for?"

Cal gave her an irritated smile. "Sweetpea, it's the New World, a new land full of treasures waiting for those who will come to harvest them. Don't you remember what I've told you? The stories of Pizarro, Cortez…the riches found by the great explorers."

"By your own account, those men's stories were greatly exaggerated."

Cal shrugged. "What can you expect of Spaniards? But they are no longer of consequence."

"I wouldn't be so sure, and if they found so little, how can you be sure of you'll find?"

"They found it, Sweetpea, but they weren't able to bring it back. We will. For the glory of England, and of King James…"

"…and of yourself," Rose muttered.

"We will bring back the riches of the New World. No one will stop us. No savage, no Spaniard, no Frenchman…no one can stop us now! God himself could not stop this expedition!"

Rose looked at him, wide-eyed. "Don't dare God, Cal. He's more powerful than you'll ever be."

Cal just rolled his eyes and gave her a patronizing look as he led her back in the direction of the inn.

XXXXX

Rose walked up the gangplank between her mother and Cal. Each held tightly to her arms, as though afraid she would run away.

The thought did tempt her. What was she doing, boarding a ship to a new, uncharted land? She was a lady, an Englishwoman of quality. She and her mother were the only women making the journey, and without Cal's protection, they would be easy prey for the dozens of lonely men on board.

She supposed that she should be grateful that Cal was there, but she wasn't. For all that the other men on board the ship were rough, none frightened her like Cal did. Of course, she reasoned, none of them had ever laid a cruel hand on her, or any hand at all, for that matter, and she wasn't betrothed to be married to any of them, either.

In spite of her mother's efforts to keep her daughter within the boundaries of the nobility, Rose had often enough sneaked away into London. She had found that, in spite of what those of her station said, the merchant class and poor people weren't as bad or as crude as she had been taught. And certainly, their bad behavior was matched on many occasions by members of the nobility, who were often worse, without the impetus of need to fuel their vicious behavior, and with enough money that the prospect of prison or hanging didn't daunt them—money could make the worst sins forgivable.

A scandal was an entirely different matter, and was the primary reason why the DeWitt Bukater women were leaving on such a dangerous journey. Rose's father, William Bukater, had been a member of an old, proud family that could trace its origins back to the Anglo-Saxon days. They had been amongst the most powerful of the nobility for generations, influencing and advising kings and generals.

In recent times, however, the Bukater family had grown more contentious, more rebellious. William Bukater had been a favorite at the court of Queen Elizabeth, in spite of the fact that he was Catholic, in stark contrast to the favored Anglican faith. In 1605, he had joined a conspiracy to make Catholicism dominant in England once again.

The plan had been to blow up the House of Parliament on November 5, 1605, a conspiracy that became known as the Gunpowder Plot. He had not been one of the main conspirators, but his financial contribution had helped the plan along.

The plan had been to blow up the House of Parliament on State Opening Day, when the king, lords, and commons would have all been present. But someone—just who was never known—sent a warning letter to the Catholic Lord Monteagle, warning him not to attend the State Opening. Monteagle, accompanied by the Lord Chamberlain, Suffolk, made a search of the House of Parliament the day before the explosion was to take place. At midnight, the cellar had been searched thoroughly, and one of the main conspirators, Guy Fawkes, was caught with the gunpowder that was to have been used to blow up the building.

The main conspirators were soon killed outright or arrested and executed, but Lord Bukater, whose role in the plot had been minor, was allowed to live. However, he was stripped of his title and lands and banished from the court, shaming his family and breaking his spirit. He had died a few months later—a boating accident, everyone had said, though Ruth had always maintained that it had been suicide.

Ruth, too, had been shamed by her husband's actions, but she herself was still a member of the nobility—the DeWitts were also nobles, though not nearly so high-ranked or well-respected as the Bukaters had been, for they were newer, and, it was suspected, linked to the French. Ruth had been allowed to keep the house in London after her husband's death, but had had to sell it when it became apparent that he had been cast deeply into debt after losing his title and lands, and it was only his death that had kept him from debtor's prison and his wife and daughter from penury.

It was for this reason that the DeWitt Bukater women were leaving for the New World. Ruth had sought help from her family, but they did not want to be associated with the now-notorious Bukaters, and had turned their backs on her. In desperation, Ruth had used the only assets remaining to her—her name, which, although tarnished, was still to be reckoned with, and her daughter, who, despite being too particular about who she would marry, was still sought-after as a bride, and for whom a good marriage would restore both their fortunes and their good standing in society.

Many of the men of higher standing did not want Rose any more than she wanted them, with her wild ways and the hint of scandal surrounding her because of her father's actions. However, in spite of these things, she did come from a well-known family, one that still possessed some political power—it had only been Rose's father that had been stripped of everything, not the rest of his family, after all—and she was a beauty, the sort of woman that many men would have liked to have had for a wife, especially older ones seeking to recapture their youth.

Caledon Hockley was not so old—only thirty, although with life expectancy being what it was, it was likely enough that he would die while Rose was still young enough to enjoy the money and possessions that he would leave behind, and which their eldest son would inherit when he was of age. Furthermore, Cal had been involved in a minor scandal himself, being reputed to have seduced the fourteen-year-old daughter of a duke and gotten her with child, although most of the blame had been laid on the girl, who was known for her fast, rebellious ways.

Still, it had taken little coaxing for Ruth to convince Cal to marry Rose. At seventeen, she was older than many young women at the time of their first marriage—though some women were widowed by the time they were her age, and embarking upon a second marriage. Cal had been smitten with Rose, and she had found him charming enough, though not enough to marry him until Ruth had stepped in.

Now, with the marriage arranged and the date set, there remained only the matter of gaining sufficient wealth to pay off William Bukater's debts—a part of the deal that Ruth and Cal had reached. In exchange for his marriage to Rose, he would pay off the family's debts, and provide Ruth with a good-sized allowance. Rose knew that she had been sold—but there was nothing so surprising about that. Young women of the nobility were usually married off for financial or political gain. She had only avoided the fate thus far because her father had not believed that his daughter should be treated so, and because she had been choosy about whom to marry. Now, the decision was out of her hands—and she wasn't any happier.

Going to Virginia would give them a place to live until the marriage could take place, as well as take them away from the gossip and notoriety from the scandal in London. It was a brave new world they were going to, and Rose could only hope that it would offer something good for her, too.

XXXXX

Ruth and Rose stood inside the tiny, cramped cabin that they would call home for the next four months. Cal had paid a great deal of money so that they could have a room to themselves, rather than sharing quarters with the men. He himself would be rooming with Governor Ratcliffe, Ratcliffe's valet, and two other men of high standing. The accommodations didn't please him, but it was better than sleeping on deck or sharing the cramped, smelly quarters below with the dozens of common men on the journey.

Rose wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant smell of the small cabin. There were two bunks, a tiny washstand, and a chamber pot, which hardly left any room for the occupants once their trunks were jammed inside. Sitting atop one of her trunks, she looked around.

The ship was seaworthy, she knew—it had been on several trips already, though never on such a long one before. It smelled well-used, too—an unpleasant miasma that offended even her none-too-delicate nostrils. Life in London stank, even for members of the nobility, and she had grown used to most smells—but not in such close quarters. She couldn't exactly identify what all the smells were, but she suspected that she would soon find out—a prospect that she found less than pleasing.

But there was nothing she could do. The ship had set sail now, and she couldn't swim—and even if she could, they were several miles offshore now, in choppy waters, and there was no turning back.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_Spring, 1607  
Virginia_

Pocahontas awoke with the early morning sun warming her face. She lay for a few moments and did her best to convince Nakoma that she was still asleep.

"Pocahontas, I know you are awake. Now, come out and help me," Nakoma said, poking her head into her friend's longhouse.

"I'm coming," Pocahontas replied, as she stood and walked out into the sunlight. Walking down to the river with Nakoma had become Pocahontas' favorite part of the day. Ever since her father had told her about the marriage arrangement, Pocahontas had tried to come up with any excuse to leave the surroundings of the village.

"Pocahontas?" Nakoma questioned her friend as she nearly slipped on a rock. "Be careful. That is the last thing you want—to twist your ankle before your wedding."

"Would it get me out of it?" Pocahontas retorted.

Nakoma, taken aback by her friend's words, sighed. "Pocahontas, Cokoum will make a fine husband. He is loyal and—"

"—strong and will build you a fine house with sturdy walls—" she added, mocking the many people that had promised her those things from the very beginning. "Nakoma, I don't want to marry him!"

Pocahontas' voice was almost a whine, almost a plea for her friend to get her out of her current predicament.

"If you do not wish to…" Both women jumped at the male voice from behind.

Pocahontas slowly turned her dark eyes to Cokoum. "Cokoum…I…please let me explain—"

He stepped out of the trees and closer to the women. "Nakoma, please." He stopped, gesturing with his hand towards the village. Nakoma hesitated, not knowing which way to go.

Pocahontas, finding her friend in distress, said, "It's all right. Go on."

"Go on, Nakoma. Now!" The last word the Indian man spoke made the young woman jump, hurrying her away.

"I hear you do not wish to marry me," Cokoum said, his tone cold.

"I just don't feel like you are the right path for me to follow our whole lives through," Pocahontas replied, making sure her voice stayed calm.

He folded his arms across his chest. "I do not love you," he stated matter-of-factly. "I…I am infatuated with you."

"I did not think you even felt that," she spat at him, before turning and walking away.

She felt his hands grab her shoulders and whirl her around. "Let me go," she hissed, her heart pounding. No man other than her father had dared to touch her.

"I'll marry you for our people," he said. "You see, I know my place, Pocahontas. It is time that you learned yours."

He let go of her then and left her standing in the forest, his harsh words ringing in her ears.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

_The Atlantic Ocean  
Spring, 1607_

_Diary,_

_We have been at sea for two weeks now, and I am bored stiff, except for those occasions when I am able to escape Mother's watchful eye and go out on deck. I wish that I could participate in the activities of the crew—they may work hard, but at least they have something to do! I would love to climb up in the crow's nest, where, I am told, a person can see for miles. Maybe at that height there would be something to see besides the endless sea, the clouds, and the occasional seagull. Maybe there would be land in sight somewhere, or another ship. Even pirates would be welcome at this point._

_I actually found something enjoyable for a while, when a mouse nested under the blanket on my bunk and had babies. The mother was so cute, even though the babies were pink and ugly. They grew so fast, though! I made a space for them and brought them crumbs and bits of cheese, but Mother saw them and almost had a heart attack. She insisted that Cal come and throw them overboard. I don't know who I hate more for that—Mother for insisting, or Cal for obeying. That poor mother struggled so hard in the water, trying to save her babies, before a big fish came along and put her out of her misery._

_I cried so hard when they did that—that mouse never hurt them any, and she and her babies were so tame. The only other pet on board is Governor Ratcliffe's dog, who yaps unmercifully and is more snotty than even his master—and that's hard to do._

I even have to hide you, diary. Mother wouldn't approve of what I'm writing, I'm sure. I can only write when she's away—and that's not often. Fortunately, I don't think she'll find you in my trunk—she doesn't want to look at the collection of underthings that I hide you under. I just hope that she doesn't get too bored and go looking through my things. You're all I have left.

Rose closed her journal quickly and tucked it into her trunk as she heard Ruth's footsteps outside the cabin door. Sitting up quickly, she closed the lid and pretended to be lost in thought.

Ruth came in, looking at her critically. "I'm glad to see that you're dressed properly, Rose," she told her, eyeing Rose's pale green gown with its elaborate farthingale and stiffly starched collar. "That dress you wore to lunch yesterday—it was hardly better than a servant's dress."

"It was the only clean item I had left," Rose pointed out. Her beautiful gowns had proven to be woefully inappropriate for travel. The dirt of their quarters had seeped into the clothing, removing the bright colors and leaving it dingy-looking. Ruth had been appalled when Rose had coaxed one of the men to draw her a tub of seawater and had attempted to wash the clothes. Ladies of their status did not wash clothing like common maids—and clean clothing wasn't exactly a high priority anyway. But Rose had been tired of the stink and the boredom, and had scrubbed at her clothes as she had once seen Trudy do.

It hadn't worked as well as she'd hoped, but at least she was cleaner, and if her gowns were more rumpled than they had once been, she certainly didn't look any worse than most of the people on board, although she knew that Ruth's reply if she told her so would be that Rose was above most of the people on board and needed to look the part.

Ruth sighed, shaking her head, wondering if she would ever instill proper manners in Rose. Of course, Rose wouldn't be her problem much longer—she would be Cal's wife soon, and his responsibility. Still, she wished that she hadn't been so lenient with her daughter back in London, and that Rose's father hadn't encouraged her wild ways.

But there was no time like the present to shape Rose into a proper lady, no matter how much Rose resented it. Brushing a speck of lint from her gown, Ruth beckoned to her daughter.

"Come, Rose. It's time for lunch."

XXXXX

Rose sat at the rough but well-appointed table in the governor's quarters. Ruth and Cal sat beside her, while Governor Ratcliffe sat at the head of the table, flanked by a couple of other noblemen. His servant hovered nearby, making sure that everyone at the table was happy.

It was dark in the small room, the only light coming from the two portholes and a few candles. Rose looked longingly at the bright sunshine outside the portholes. She had always loved sunny days, so rare in London. It was a perfect day to eat outside—but when she had mentioned the idea, her mother had been appalled, and Cal had taken her arm warningly, whispering to her to behave herself.

Her face set in a proper but tense expression, Rose reached into the small bag she had carried with her and took out a cigarette that she had rolled while her mother was asleep the night before. Smoking was a forbidden luxury, outlawed by the king, but one that some people indulged in anyway. She had picked up the habit while attending the theater, and while she did not smoke as heavily as some—and, to be truthful, found it a bit unpleasant to deliberately inhale smoke into her lungs—she still indulged on occasion, enjoying the shocked looks on people's faces when she did so.

Reaching toward the center of the table, she lit the cigarette with one of the candles and brought it to her lips, inhaling deeply. She immediately felt a cough rise up, but suppressed it, unwilling to admit that smoking might not be as enjoyable as she tried to convince people she found it.

Ruth leaned close. "You know I don't like that, Rose."

Cal, looking far thinner and more pale than he had before the journey had begun, took the cigarette from Rose and ground it out on an empty pewter dish, breaking it so that she couldn't relight it.

"She knows." He signaled to Ratcliffe's servant. "She'll have the usual portion of cheese, bread, stew, and wine, with a little fruit."

"And you, sir?"

"I will have…just a couple of biscuits and a little fruit."

"Still seasick, sir?"

"Never you mind. Just do as I told you."

Rose smirked to herself, pleased that Cal was enjoying the trip even less than she was. He was allowed to go on deck unescorted, to be sure, and had been called upon to help when a storm has struck them a week out to sea, much to his dismay. But most of his time on deck was spent leaning miserably over the rail, losing what little he was able to eat. Sailing did not agree with Cal at all, while she and Ruth seemed to have been spared the seasickness.

She stared at her crushed cigarette, disappointed. It had been made with the last of the tobacco she had smuggled from England, rolled in a bit of paper from the bottom of her trunk. She might be able to find more paper, but where would she get more tobacco, unless the savages had it? She had heard that tobacco had come from the New World, so perhaps she could get more once they landed.

She looked up as the servant removed the plate with the crushed cigarette and set their food on the table. Ratcliffe gave her a disdainful look, then began bragging about the expedition and what he expected to find in Virginia.

"This will be the largest and most important colony that England shall have in the New World," he told them, his plump face smug. "With the riches we shall take back, England will rise to even greater prominence—and us along with it." He made a sweeping gesture of the other men at the table, ignoring Ruth and Rose. "Of course, as governor, I shall have the lion's share. King James appointed me to this grand expedition, and the rewards will be great."

Rose rolled her eyes in disgust. The man was bragging about things he knew nothing about. Slowly, almost casually, she lifted her thumb to her mouth as though to pick her teeth, then tucked it behind her front teeth.

Ruth's eyes widened in shock. Rose's misbehavior had been bad enough, but this was obscene.

"What's gotten into you?" she hissed, tugging at Rose's arm.

Ratcliffe noticed. "Young lady," he began, his eyes wide with affront, "are you biting your thumb at me?"

Rose put her hand on the table, pretending innocence. "No, sir. Of course not. I do not bite my thumb at you—but I do bite my thumb," she added impishly, remembering the wonderful play that the line had come from.

Ruth's face flamed red. She knew that she should never have allowed Rose to meet with that vulgar playwright! Shakespeare. That was his name. A cheap purveyor of tawdry entertainment—even if he had been a favorite of Queen Elizabeth before her death. He would never amount to anything without her, she was certain—but he had succeeded in teaching Rose some very vulgar manners.

Stiffening, she turned to Ratcliffe. "I do apologize. She has been much too influenced by that playwright, Shakespeare."

Her appetite suddenly gone, Rose pushed back from the table and stood up. "Excuse me," she said, stiffly, leaving the room.

As she left, she heard Ratcliffe ask, his voice confused, "Shakespeare? Who is that? Is he on this ship?"

XXXXX

Jack leaned against the railing, eating what passed for a midday meal on this ship—hard, dry biscuits, slightly moldy cheese, and sour wine in a crude wooden cup. Shipboard fare was hardly food fit for a king, though he knew that the handful of nobles on board ate much better than the rest of them.

Several other men joined him, leaning against the railing or perching on barrels, as they ate what was, only two weeks out, still fairly decent food. They even enjoyed the occasional fish with their evening meal, though no one had been lucky enough to catch one yet today.

He glanced at his companions—Thomas, who he had given one of the tickets he had won to, and two men whom he had seen but didn't know.

One of them pulled out one of the forbidden cigarettes from a pocket, looked at it ruefully, then tucked it away again, realizing that he had no way to light it. Looking at Jack, he asked him, "You're the artist, ain't ye?" He spoke with a heavy Irish accent.

Jack nodded. He hadn't been able to bring much with him on this trip—not that he had much anyway—but the leather-bound portfolio with its collection of charcoal and paper had been something he had refused to leave behind. It was the only thing he had left from his old home after years of wandering. Besides, he was going to the New World. Who knew what kind of fascinating subjects he would for his art there? Savages, great explorers, strange beasts…the possibilities were endless.

"I'm Tommy Ryan," the Irishman told him, reaching out a hand.

"Jack Dawson." Jack shook his hand, glancing at the fourth man in their group, a dark-skinned fellow with thick black hair.

"Fabrizio," he introduced himself.

Jack's eyes widened at the Italian name, wondering if this man was in any way related to the one whose tickets he had won.

Fabrizio grinned knowingly, knowing who Jack was and why he was wondering about him. "My partner lost the tickets to you," he said, taking a drink from his wine cup. "I was in da back a da pub, watching. He was a fool."

"Uh…sorry," Jack stammered, not knowing what else to say.

Fabrizio shrugged. "I snuck aboard. Not everyone with tickets came, so there's room for all, yes?"

Jack laughed. "I guess so. Anyway, this far out, what are they going to do? Throw you overboard?"

They all turned, startled, as a door slammed nearby and Rose stalked out onto the deck, her cheeks pink with anger. She walked over to the railing some distance down from them and stared out to sea, her eyes blazing.

Everyone stared for a moment before looking away, knowing what the consequences were if anyone even suspected them of making advances toward the young noblewoman.

Everyone except Jack, that is. He continued to gaze at her, mesmerized. Her pale green gown rustled in the strong sea breeze, and strands of her elegantly coiffed red hair came loose, blowing around her face. He was fascinated.

The others laughed. Fabrizio waved a hand in front of his face. Tommy shook his head.

"Ah, ferget it, boyo. Yer as like to have angels fly out yer arse as get next to the likes o' her."

Jack ignored them, hardly hearing their good-natured teasing. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—and this was the first time he had seen her up close.

Rose, conscious that she was being stared at, looked toward the men and narrowed her eyes, then looked back out to sea. Inexplicably, though, her eyes were drawn back to the young blonde man who was still staring at her. She returned his gaze, her eyes meeting his for what seemed an eternity.

She jumped, startled, as the door behind her slammed again and Cal stalked out on deck, his expression furious.

"Rose, what the hell are you doing out here? You know you don't belong out here."

"Leave me alone, Cal."

He took her by the elbow, ignoring her protests. "Come and finish your meal. Your mother is most upset with you."

"What a pity." Rose pulled her arm away from him and stalked back inside, her head held high.

Cal cast a warning look at the men lounging nearby and followed her, gritting his teeth in fury at his betrothed's defiance.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

_Spring, 1607  
Virginia_

"Pocahontas, stand up straight!" Her sister's exasperated voice rang out.

"I'm sorry," she replied, as she straightened her shoulders. She was being fitted for her bridal dress, a soft, well-tanned deer skin dress well-decorated with fringe that began at her knees and flowed to her ankles. Turquoise beads hung from the top of the dress and crossed where they met the fringe. The final touch was her mother's necklace that Powhatan had given her shortly after he had told her about Cokoum's proposal. It had remained around her neck from that moment on. Through the weeks she had tried to avoid Cokoum, even doing extra chores, but it was no use.

XXXXX

Night had fallen on the Powhatan village as Pocahontas' father began to tell the stories of the recent enemy that had come upon them.

"Our warriors fought with courage, but none as bravely as Cokoum, for he fought with the strength of the bear. He has proven himself to be worthy--"

"Oh, he is so handsome," Nakoma said, as she winked at her best friend.

"I especially love his smile," she retorted, looking at Cokoum's stern face.

"Would you girls quiet down?" an older woman hissed, turning to face the young women.

Pocahontas nodded her apologies as she turned her attention back to her father's speech.

"Tonight, we will feast in his honor," Powhatan finished, as Nakoma and the crowd cheered.

Sighing, Pocahontas tried to slink off, but a strong arm landed on her shoulder.

"Did you not hear your father?" Cokoum questioned accusingly.

"I heard him just fine. Why do you ask?" Pocahontas replied, as she freed herself from Cokoum's hold. She turned and began walking towards the treeline. As she looked back, she was pleased to see Cokoum's shocked face watching her.

XXXXX

"You just left like that!" Powhatan's voice was firm and angry, as he faced his daughter later that night. "It is time you took your place among your people."

Pocahontas turned her head to the side, refusing to look at her father in the eye.

"You know that Cokoum wished to dance with you, but when he had asked my permission and I had granted it, no one could find you. You humiliated him, Pocahontas. He wished to dance with his future wife. Instead, he asked Nakoma."

"Then let Nakoma marry him," she stated flatly.

Standing quickly, Pocahontas walked from her father's longhouse, but it was not quick enough. Powhatan slapped her once, then left her as she rubbed her cheek. She knew that she was not going to be able to change her path now. She understood that her father wanted her to be safe and happy, but Pocahontas knew the whole truth.

Her marriage was based on rank and status within her village, and her father had already stated that Cokoum had proven himself worthy of her. _Why couldn't I marry for love_? Pocahontas mused, then laughed aloud. That rarely happened, as far as she knew.

Feeling tired, she walked in the direction of her longhouse, noting that Cokoum was still awake from the amount of light that came from his structure.

A thought struck her. Should she say something to him? _No_, she decided, knowing that Cokoum could take advantage of her while she was there, and not willing to risk it, she headed for her own house and to sleep.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

_Atlantic Ocean  
Spring, 1607_

Rose shifted uneasily in her bunk as the normally brisk, steady wind on the sea became faster and gusty, raising waves and tossing the ship. Thunder cracked overhead, and a burst of lightning lit the night, visible through the small portholes.

She sat up, almost hitting her head on the low ceiling. Gripping the rail, she held on as the ship moved abruptly, almost throwing her from her bed. In the bunk below, she a thud as her mother was thrown against the wall, rousing her from sleep.

"Rose?" Ruth sat up, rubbing her back. "Rose, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mother," Rose replied, but at that moment the ship shifted again, breaking Rose's grip on the rail and almost toppling her to the floor.

Clinging to the ladder, she climbed down, refusing to stay in her unsteady bunk another moment. Another flash of lightning lit the room as her trunk broke loose and slid toward her. Thumps could be heard from the other cabins, and shouts and crashes came from the deck above.

"This is quite a storm," Ruth remarked, as Rose perched precariously on the ladder, trying to avoid the sliding trunks. "Not unlike some I remember at the estate at Cornwall when I was a girl."

Rose held tightly to the ladder, looking out the portholes whenever a flash of lightning lit the sky enough for her to see. She didn't dare light a candle in this storm—if it fell over, it would set the ship afire.

"Mother, this isn't Cornwall. This is a ship. What if we sink?"

"I don't think we'll sink, Rose. This ship is quite well broken in."

"But, Mother…"

"Rose, don't worry about things you can't control. If the ship sinks, it sinks. There's nothing we can do about it."

Rose stepped down to the floor and made her way across the lurching room to a porthole. It was almost too black to see outside, and her mother's words didn't calm her at all. She jumped as another crack of thunder sounded right overhead, then turned as a sound came from her mother. Apparently the storm had gotten the better of even Ruth's strong stomach.

Rose didn't feel sick, just frightened. The ship tossed again, sending her to the floor, and suddenly a vision of what would happen if the ship did sink went through her mind. She and her mother would be trapped in the tiny cabin as the water rose around them, choking the life out of them. She remembered the sight of her mouse and its babies struggling in the much calmer waters a few weeks earlier, and crawled over to the bunks, pulling herself to her feet and clinging to the piece of furniture as the ship continued to toss.

Staggering along the unsteady floor, Rose reached the door and flung it open as another flash of lightning lit the room. Ruth stared at her, her face pale and drawn.

"Rose! What are you doing? Come back here!"

Rose didn't listen. From the black hallway came the skittering of tiny feet and a high-pitched yipping and whining. She shrieked as the soft, furry form brushed past her into the cabin. Governor Ratcliffe's dog, Percy, was as terrified of the storm as she was.

Ruth staggered out into the hall as Rose lurched across it and began feeling her way towards the staircase to the deck.

"Rose! Where are you?"

Another flash of lightning lit the sky as the wind blew the doors to the deck open, sending in a wave that soaked the steps and dribbled down into the hallway below.

Ruth saw her. "Rose! Rose, come back here! Don't go up there!"

More panicked than ever from the wave, Rose ignored her mother and began to climb the stairs, clinging to the banister and slipping in her bare feet. The storm tossed the ship again, almost sending her tumbling to the bottom of the stairs, but she held on, gritting her teeth and pulling herself upward.

Ruth tumbled to the floor in the pitching ship. "Rose! Rose!"

XXXXX

Rose plastered herself against the wall as she came out on deck. It was nearly as dark as inside, but the flashes of lightning lit the ship enough to show her what was going on.

The deck was in chaos, men running and shouting, slipping and tumbling on the wet, tossing deck. Several barrels had broken loose, one of them splitting open and spilling its liquid contents across the deck. A strong smell of wine was in the air before another wave washed over the deck.

There were shouts and commotion from the bows, cries of "Man overboard!" carrying on the gusty wind.

Startled, Rose looked in the direction of the bow, still clinging to the wall. As another flash of lightning lit the sky, she could see a man swing out over the railing and disappear below, clinging to a sturdy rope. Her eyes widened as she recognized him—John Smith, adventurer and story-teller extraordinaire, who had often been invited to dine at Governor Ratcliffe's table.

She watched, straining to see when the lightning lit the sky. It seemed like forever, but was actually only a few minutes before several other men pulled the rope up and Smith reappeared, carrying the limp form of the young man who had been carried overboard by a wave.

She stared, wondering if he was dead, as Smith laid him on the pitching deck and knelt over him. A few minutes later, a flash of lightning revealed the young man sitting up, holding his head and coughing.

Surprised, Rose inched forward, forgetting for the moment why she had come out on deck—and the danger of being on deck in a storm.

She was reminded as the ship pitched sideways, a large wave washing over the deck. Rose tried to scramble out of the way, but it was too late. She screamed as the wave picked her up and dragged her to the edge of the deck, sending her tumbling over the railing.

XXXXX

Jack turned, startled, as a high-pitched scream came from halfway up the deck. He had been securing some ropes alongside Fabrizio and Tommy while a still-dazed Thomas clung to some netting, still catching his breath after his near-drowning.

Another terrified scream sounded through the wind, along with high-pitched pleas for help. Jack turned and, leaving the ropes to the others, slipped and slid over to the railing, pulling himself along as the ship pitched again.

"Help me! Please, help me!"

A flash of lightning lit the scene, allowing Jack to see a figure clinging precariously to the outside of the railing. It sounded like one of the women.

Forgetting his own safety, Jack moved towards her.

XXXXX

Rose clung to the rail she had managed to grip as the wave washed her overboard. The ship tossed again, almost tearing her hands from their precarious hold. She tried to find some purchase on the side of the ship, but to no avail.

"Help me! Please, someone help me!"

Another wave washed over her, causing one of her hands to slip from the railing.

"Help! Please!"

She had been terrified of being trapped in a sinking ship, but this was worse by far. If she lost her grip, she would slip unnoticed into the dark, churning waters, never to be seen again. She had never learned to swim, and the churning waters would make swimming impossible in any case.

She heard Cal's voice as he struggled up on deck, not daring to go near the rail in the storm.

"For God's sake! Someone do something!"

"Help me!" Rose screamed, her eyes imploring Cal to pull her back over. She managed to get her toes into a small crack in the wood, but another wave washed them loose. As she felt her hands slipping from the rail, someone grabbed them.

"I've got you. I won't let go."

With a surge of adrenaline, Rose got her feet against the side of the ship and pushed herself upwards, almost getting her shoulders over the rail before she lost momentum and fell back, nearly dragging her rescuer overboard.

She screamed again, panic overcoming her as he lost his grip on one of her hands. Terrified, she grabbed for anything she could get her hands on, and heard him curse as she got a handful of his hair.

Grabbing her hand again, he pulled up and back, dragging her back over the railing as the ship tossed in the opposite direction, flinging her on top of him as a flash of lightning lit the scene, allowing her to see her rescuer.

By this time a crowd had gathered. Someone pulled Rose off of Jack, helping them both to their feet. Cal came forward, wrapping his arms around Rose's sodden body and pulling her toward the stairway.

Rose looked back at her rescuer. "Thank you." She burst into tears, realizing how close she had come to drowning.

Cal herded her down the stairs, followed by Jack and by John Smith. Ruth stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching anxiously. Ratcliffe came slowly down the hall, followed by his servant, who carried a blanket.

Rose fell to her knees as Smith took the blanket and wrapped it around her. Shivering, she leaned against the wall, continuing to cry, until Ruth knelt down before her.

"Rose, whatever possessed you to go up there? You knew it wasn't safe."

"I was afraid that the ship would sink, and I would be trapped."

Cal shook his head, turning to the other men in the light of the candle that Ratcliffe's servant had brought. There was no danger of fire now—the whole hallway was soaked.

"She was afraid the ship would sink." He turned back to Rose. "Sweetpea, it wouldn't have made any difference. You know you can't swim. If your mother hadn't come for me when she did…"

"You had nothing to do with rescuing me!" Rose snapped. "You stood back and watched. If I had fallen into the sea, you wouldn't have even looked for me. He was the one who rescued me!" She pointed to Jack. "Tell me, sir, what is your name?"

"Jack Dawson, milady."

"I'm Rose DeWitt Bukater. Thank you for pulling me back."

"You're welcome."

Cal interrupted, not liking the way that Rose was looking at Jack. "Come, Sweetpea. Let's get you back to your cabin. You must be freezing."

Smith stopped him. "Perhaps a little something for the boy?"

Cal turned, eyeing Jack disdainfully, wondering what this commoner might want. Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold piece. "This should be sufficient."

Rose gaped at him. "Is that the going rate for saving the woman you love?"

Cal looked at her, a patronizing smile spreading across his face. "Rose is displeased. What to do?" He thought for a moment. "I know." He turned to Jack. "Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow evening, to regale our group with your heroic tale."

Jack looked at him for a moment, wondering if he was serious, then shrugged. "Sure. Count me in."

"Good. It's settled, then." Cal pushed Rose towards her cabin once more.

Rose looked back as she reached the door, her eyes meeting Jack's. She smiled tentatively before Cal pushed her inside.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

_Virginia  
Spring, 1607_

Closing the leather flap of her hut, Pocahontas walked over to her bed and lay down. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the many voices that floated in her head.

"_This is the right path for you. Cokoum will build you a fine house with_..." Her father's voice rang in her head, and all at once, it was Nakoma, "_Pocahontas, marry him. Do you not realize how fortunate you are_?"

Pocahontas rolled to her side. "_I can give you anything_," her future husband's voice sang through her head. She squeezed her eyes tighter as all the voices merged in to one loud, insisting, never-ending voice.

XXXXX

_Springing from her hut, Pocahontas began to run. She did not need any light, for the forest that had surrounded her throughout her whole life stretched before her. She ran, swift as the young deer, and when the trees began to blur and the ground began to fly with her feet, she still kept her fast pace. The voices got farther away as she darted off the forest path and into a thicket, forcing a path of her own through the dense leaves and branches. She burst out on the other side, stopping dead as her father's face came into view. She stood, her back against a weeping willow, her father walking quickly to stand beside her. Pocahontas looked up and met her father's gaze as his hands reached towards her neck and gently placed her mother's necklace around her neck. Glancing down and then quickly back up, she saw that her father had vanished. Looking down again, Pocahontas froze as the necklace began to move. It wrapped itself tighter around her neck. Grabbing the necklace, she pulled at her neck. It was no longer the necklace that had been placed around her neck, but a snake with its head facing her. The snake hissed, and flinging it to the ground, she began running again. Coming to a river, she jumped into her canoe and began paddling fiercely down the river. The usually smooth river suddenly gave way to rapid, fast-moving water, and she fought to keep the small boat under her control as it came up to a huge waterfall. Gasping, she saw Cokoum's face through the mist of the water as it prevented her from going over. Determinedly, she pushed the canoe closer to the waterfall, sighing with relief as the boat slid over the image of Cokoum's face, his face opening and finally disappearing_.

XXXXX

Pocahontas jerked up in her sleep as beads of cold sweat poured down her face and onto her chest. She pulled the deerskin blanket closer towards her as she shivered in the cool spring breeze that suddenly blew through the hut's flap.

"Cokoum," her voice whispered.

"I never would've thought that you were so taken by nightmares, Pocahontas," his voice said as he knelt beside her bed.

"I…I never thought..."

Her words were silenced as he placed a single finger to her lips. It caused her to sit up more properly and face him.

"Pocahontas," Cokoum said, his voice gentle. "Give me a chance. I mean you no harm in coming to visit you." When she didn't answer, he continued, "Your father had sent a messenger to my village in the north, asking me to come and help your people with the war against the Micawomacs. I agreed, and said that I would help my brothers, but did not know I would fall so deeply for the chief's beautiful daughter."

At this, Pocahontas blushed. "Not me, Cokoum. Not me. Go back to your village. Find a woman to give your life to."

"No, for I have found her. Pocahontas, you are a wild child, you don't know your boundaries, and no man would have the wits to put up with you, but I do."

Pocahontas' eyes narrowed. "How dare you tell me that I do not know my boundaries?"

"I shall help you see them," Cokoum said as he leaned closer.

"I do not favor you," Pocahontas said flatly.

"Who do you favor, then?"

His question was simple, but Pocahontas had no words for his answer.

"Just as I thought," Cokoum said as his mouth closed the distance to her own in a swift, soft kiss. "Tell me, princess, do you favor me now?"

The young woman tried to force the blush down that had risen in her cheeks, but sat stunned as Cokoum's kiss lingered on her lips.

Finding her voice, she replied, "You are a good man, set in your ways as I am set in mine. This is a bad match, Cokoum, one that will bring you shame and bring me sorrow."

"Why shall it bring me shame?"

"You said it yourself that I am a wild child, but a match between you and Nakoma..."

"I like the wild children," he retorted, and smirked.

"Cokoum, listen to yourself. Listen to me!" Her voice rose. "Do you not understand? I am not so easily tamed as…as…" She stopped.

"As I think," he finished for her.

"Yes," she replied. "You are a good man. Marry a good woman. I am not ready to walk this path just yet."

"At least allow me to court you. Your father will be displeased to hear of this."

"Say nothing of it," she replied.

"But I must!"

Pocahontas' voice became desperate as Cokoum got to his feet. "All right. I consent to court you."

"Good," he said. "The wild child is easier to tame than she gives herself credit for."

Pocahontas closed her eyes as what he had just done hit her in the face. _Just courting_, she thought. _For now, at least_.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

_Atlantic Ocean  
Spring, 1607_

_Diary,_

_I had the most frightening experience of my life last night. Even facing two thieves in London with robbery in mind—and perhaps more—was not so frightening._

_I almost fell overboard._

_The storm was horrendous—like unto one of those hurricanes that Mr. Shakespeare described. I was sure that we would be sunk, and that I would die below decks, drowning slowly as the water came to cover my head. Of course, the idea that I would be safer on deck was ridiculous, to say the least—I cannot swim a stroke. I would surely have drowned if Mr. Dawson had not come to my rescue._

_Cal, of course, could not be counted upon to do anything. He saw me dangling from the railing, screaming in terror, and did nothing but stand back and watch. I don't know if he can swim, either, but his actions were nothing short of cowardly._

_I was lucky that Mr. Dawson heard my cries for help over the storm—or saw my plight—I don't know which, but he came and pulled me back over. I dimly remember grabbing his hair in my panic and pulling—I'm lucky he didn't drop me overboard then!_

_Cal was furious with me with going out on deck, though I know not whether his anger stemmed from my near death or from the fact that I disobeyed his orders. He shouted at me, berating me in spite of the fact that I had nearly been drowned, and then offered Mr. Dawson a gold piece for saving me. Why Cal had a gold piece at that hour, I don't know. Perhaps he sleeps with his money for luck—he seems to love it more than anything else, except perhaps hunting innocent animals._

_Cal has professed to love me, and yet he believes that a simple gold piece is payment enough for saving my life. Is that truly the action of a man in love? Of course, considering how well he loves his money, perhaps it was a great sacrifice for him._

Still, I was able to change his mind. He can give Mr. Dawson the gold piece for all I care, but if a man saves the life of another, more is obliged. I convinced Cal to do more, and he invited Mr. Dawson to dinner tonight, a far more acceptable reward, at least as I see it. It is a gesture of friendship to break bread with another, and what greater reason for friendship than the act of saving a life?

XXXXX

Rose wrapped her quill in the soft cloth that prevented it from breaking and spilling leftover ink into her trunk and tucked her diary away. The storm had ended during the night, leaving the sea as calm as a small pond on a windless day, and a sky so bright and blue that it seemed that nothing frightening could ever have come from it.

Stretching lazily, Rose removed her nightgown and dug into her trunk for a gown to wear, finally selecting a simple yellow frock. It wasn't the latest fashion, but here on the sea, who would care—or even notice?

Dressing quickly, Rose slipped from the small, airless cabin, heading again for the deck. She knew that Cal didn't want her walking alone on deck, but she had skipped breakfast that morning, pleading queasiness. As Cal himself had discovered, the fresh sea air eased seasickness, so how could he condemn her for following his example?

Once up on deck, Rose walked across the still-damp wood to the railing, looking down from where she had almost fallen. Looking at the sea below, she paled, realizing just how lucky she was to be alive. If Mr. Dawson hadn't pulled her over when he had…

Rose shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. If there was one thing she was going to do when she reached the New World, she vowed, it would be to learn to swim. From what she had heard, there were plenty of rivers and lakes there, so surely she would have a chance to learn. Perhaps Captain Smith would be willing to teach her, if she could get enough money to pay him. Or perhaps she could learn by herself—she had seen the peasant boys swimming on the Bukater estate, and it hadn't looked terribly difficult. If the water was calm, and not too deep, surely she could learn to stay afloat.

In the meantime, she had a task to carry out. She wanted to thank Mr. Dawson personally for saving her—after all, he had nearly gone overboard himself. It was the least she could do.

First, however, she had to find him. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she began walking towards the stern, hoping to find him there amongst the men whose voices carried in the calm morning air.

Everyone turned to stare as Rose approached the stern, tucking her hands nervously into the sleeves of her gown. She looked around, hoping to see Mr. Dawson, but there was no sign of him. She did see Smith, who nodded politely to her, smiling slightly.

Rose blushed, looking down. Cal wouldn't be happy if he saw one of the men smiling at her—and she had to admit that John Smith was handsome. It wasn't appropriate for she, the betrothed of Caledon Hockley, to be smiling at another man, no matter how handsome he was.

Still, she could ask where Mr. Dawson was. Raising her chin, Rose glided gracefully across the deck in his direction, hoping for some word on Mr. Dawson.

"Excuse me, sir, but have you seen Mr. Jack Dawson—the man who saved my life last night?" Rose reddened more, hoping that she wasn't being too forward.

"He's' a over there, on 'a the other side," a man spoke up, gesturing to the other side of the ship. Rose looked at him, vaguely recognizing the Italian fellow she had seen the day that she had gone up on deck after insulting Governor Ratcliffe.

"Thank you, sir," Rose replied. "I wish to—to thank him for pulling me back over last night."

"S�, he told us about that—about how he pulled the pretty lady over the railing, and how her husband invited him to dinner tonight."

"Cal…Lord Hockley…isn't my husband yet," Rose corrected him, wondering why she found it so important that to make that distinction. Perhaps because she had no wish to be his wife!

At that moment, Jack reappeared at the stern, his feet bare and his dark blonde hair tied back, some loose strands still hanging in his face. He looked in the direction that everyone was staring in, a look of surprise crossing his face when he saw Rose.

Quickly, he walked over to her. "Rose…uh…Lady DeWitt Bukater…what brings you here?"

Rose stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words. She didn't know quite how to thank him.

"I…ah…Mr. Dawson…"

"Please, call me Jack."

"Jack…you can call me Rose, or Miss DeWitt Bukater…the man who invited you to dinner tonight is my betrothed, not my husband."

"All right, Rose." Jack shot a quelling look to Tommy, who was grinning, not missing Rose's emphasis on her single status.

"I…could we speak in private, please?"

"Sure." Jack looked back at the others as he followed Rose away from the stern. Smith looked thoughtful, Thomas and Fabrizio were openly staring, and Tommy grinned again, calling to Jack as he walked away.

"Watch out fer those angels!"

Rose heard the comment, too, and gave Jack a puzzled look. He just shook his head, looking slightly sheepish. "It's nothing. Just a joke."

"Tell me. I love jokes."

"Well…ah…the Irishman there, Tommy, he was saying that I was as likely to have angels fly out of my arse as get next to you."

Rose looked at him, wide-eyed, for a moment before her face broke into a smile. "Hmm…those angels must have been helping you pull me back last night."

Jack laughed appreciatively, not expecting her to have that bawdy sense of humor. Women of his class often did, to be sure, but he had never thought that a well brought up lady would.

Rose looked at him, her laughter forgotten as she considered how to thank him for saving her life. It had seemed simple enough when she had thought of it, but now…what was she to say?

"So, tell me about yourself, Jack. What brings you on board this ship?"

"Well…uh…I've been on my own since I was fifteen, when my parents died in a fire…"

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

"It's all right…it's been five years now. Anyway, I was from Cornwall—"

"My mother was from there, too, originally."

"Really? What is her family's name?"

"DeWitt."

"Ah, yes. We were tenants on the DeWitt estate."

"Really? How amazing! But why did you leave? Surely there was someplace you could have stayed, work you could have done."

He shrugged. "I didn't have any reason to stay. I didn't have any family left there, and I wanted to see the world. I'd been lucky enough to learn to read and write, so I knew that there was more to the world than just Cornwall, and I wanted to see it. So I left, and haven't been back since."

"Where did you go when you left?"

"Lots of places. All over England, including London—"

"My family had a house there until we were forced to sell it to pay off our debts after my father died."

Jack thought for a moment. "Was your father's name Bukater?"

Rose nodded. "Yes."

"He was a part of that plot, wasn't he? The one to blow up Parliament."

"Yes, but he wasn't executed like the others. He simply had everything he owned taken from him."

"Leaving all of you in debt."

"Yes…though Mother and I didn't know it then." Rose stopped, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. "And where else did you go?"

"To Scotland and Ireland, of course, and I stowed away on board a ship to France, but I didn't stay long. Englishmen aren't terribly welcome there."

"So I'm told. Cal hates the French—even though the DeWitts are suspected of being connected to them."

Jack laughed slightly. "Anyway, I went back to London, and became involved in the theater—not so much as an actor, but as an artist. William Shakespeare's work was wonderful—are you familiar with him? And so was the Commedia D'ell Arte. Fabrizio's family was in Commedia D'ell Arte—it's an Italian theater form, you know—but he preferred going to the New World."

Rose's eyes sparkled. "I met Mr. Shakespeare on several occasions—I loved his work. I wish that I could be in plays…but of course only men are allowed to do that. I enjoy Commedia D'ell Arte, too—but Mother thinks it's obscene."

"It is obscene—that's half the fun."

Rose laughed. "I always wanted to be a part of that—to be an actor, to dance and have people watch me—of course, it would have been quite scandalous. Imagine, a woman on the stage—and a noblewoman at that! I was always expected to be a proper young lady, to attend the court, and to find a suitable husband—though I really don't see why. Queen Elizabeth never married, and she brought England to glory like no man ever has."

Jack looked at her. "If you don't want to marry, then why are you betrothed? Do you love him?"

"What?" Rose looked at him incredulously.

"Do you love him?"

"That is not an appropriate question! Love—whoever heard of the nobility marrying for love? Except for Mr. Shakespeare, of course."

"Well, why are you engaged to him, then?"

"I…this is not a suitable conversation! You're being rude."

"Why can't you just answer the question? Do you love him or not?"

"Jack…Mr. Dawson…your questions are rude and inappropriate. I sought you out to thank you for saving my life." She shook his hand, taking on a formal tone. "Thank you, Mr. Dawson, for pulling me over. I'm glad to be alive. Now, I am leaving."

Jack was still shaking her hand, a grin playing about his lips. "I thought you were leaving."

Rose pulled away. "I am!" She turned to walk away. "Wait! I don't have to leave! I'm nobility. You leave!"

"Oh, now who's being rude?"

Rose glared at him, indignant. No man had ever dared to talk to her that way! Spying his leather-bound portfolio, she snatched it, perching on a barrel to look at it.

"What is this—your art?"

"Aye. What do you think?"

"I think…" Rose paged through the portfolio, her eyes widening. "These are rather good. In fact, they're very good. Jack, this is exquisite work."

"Well, it didn't go over too well in London."

"They're fools, then. This is wonderful." She came to a series of nude drawings. "Well, well, well. And these were…drawn from life?"

Jack grinned. "I drew them in St. Giles."

Rose gave him a startled look at the name of the notorious slum. He shrugged.

"That's the nice thing about St. Giles—plenty of girls willing to take their clothes off."

Rose turned another page, her eyes taking in the exquisite details. "You liked this woman. You used her several times."

"Well, she had beautiful hands, see?"

Rose smirked. "I think you must have had a love affair with this woman."

Jack shook his head vehemently. "No, no. Just with her hands. She was a one-legged prostitute. See?" He showed her another drawing.

Rose's eyes widened. "Oh…oh, my." She closed the portfolio, handing it back to him. "You have a gift, Jack. You do. You see people."

"I see you."

"And?" Rose tossed her head, expecting the same comment on her beauty that she had heard from portrait painters before.

"You're smarter than your betrothed gives you credit for. You've got more depth, too."

Rose just stared at him, startled beyond response.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

_Atlantic Ocean  
Spring, 1607_

The sun was setting over the Atlantic as Jack and Rose leaned on the rail, gazing out at the ocean. They stood in quiet companionship, each enjoying the presence of the other.

"So what did you do then?" Rose asked, continuing a conversation begun a few minutes before.

"Well, after herding sheep got to be too much like work, I went up to the North Sea in Scotland and worked as a fisherman. And after that, I went to London and made drawings for a penny each. I could make ten pennies in a day sometimes."

"A whole ten pennies?" Rose raised an eyebrow.

Jack didn't understand. "Yes. It was great. But that only worked in the summer. In the winter I had to find something else to do."

Rose was silent for a moment, staring out to sea. "Why can't I be like you, Jack? Just head out for the horizon whenever I feel like it? Say we'll go to those places sometimes, even if we only ever just talk about it."

"No, we'll do it. We'll go out on a boat in the North Sea and catch fish, and then go to London and see how the poorer people live. We'll even go riding out in the country. But you'll have to do it like a man—none of that sidesaddle stuff."

Rose was scandalized. "Oh…can you show me?"

"Sure."

"Teach me to ride like a man…"

"And swim like a man…"

"And…and spit like a man!"

"What…ladies don't know how to do that?"

"No." Rose laughed.

"Come on. I'll show you." He grabbed her hand and dragged her down the deck a ways, away from prying eyes.

"Jack…no!" Rose resisted. "I couldn't possibly, Jack!"

"Like this!" He demonstrated, spitting into the ocean.

"That's disgusting!" Rose grinned, then tried it herself. Most of it ran down her chin.

"That was pitiful! You have to do it like this." Jack demonstrated again. "See the distance on that thing?"

Rose nodded, and was about to try it again when someone cleared their throat behind them. They turned quickly, Rose wiping her chin.

"Mother! What are you doing out here?"

"I came to take the air." Ruth stared at Jack as though he was some vermin that she would like to crush.

"Well…ah…Mother, may I introduce Jack Dawson?"

Ruth looked coldly at him. "Charmed, I'm sure." Ignoring Jack, she turned to Rose. "Honestly, Rose. How many times do Cal and I have to warn you to stay off the deck?"

"But you're here."

"Rose…don't argue with me. It's almost time for dinner. You need to get changed."

Rose sighed reluctantly, but then, remembering that Jack was coming to dinner, turned back to him and smiled. "See you at dinner, Jack."

Ruth sighed and grabbed Rose's arm, hustling her daughter along the deck. Rose looked back once and waved to him before Ruth shoved her inside.

Jack stared after them. He liked Rose, but he wasn't sure he was looking forward to dinner.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

_Virginia  
Spring, 1607_

"I had a nice evening, Cokoum," Pocahontas said, as they stood at the edge of their village.

"As did I, Pocahontas," Cokoum replied as he leaned closer to her.

"Oh, look!" Pocahontas exclaimed, as she made her eyes travel towards the sky.

"At what?"

"At the moon. It's full tonight. It's beautiful," Pocahontas answered, thanking the goddess of the moon.

"I'm not interested in the moon," Cokoum said, and before Pocahontas could distract him, she stood through Cokoum's lips being on her own as his hand held hers.

Pocahontas pulled back. "We need to get back to the village."

"Forget the village for one night," Cokoum said, his black eyes boring into her own.

"Cokoum," Pocahontas said harshly. "You do not have the right to take me before our marriage. You know that!"

The warrior gasped and quickly withdrew his hand. "Forgive me, Pocahontas. You are so beautiful that I tend to forget myself."

"Well, stop it," she shot back, anger driving her words.

She turned from him, and began walking through the cornfields and back to the village.

"Pocahontas," Cokoum's voice called to her, but she didn't turn to look at him.

She smiled as Cokoum began to follow her, muttering words that no respectable Powhatan woman should hear under his breath.

She laughed, and turned to face him. "Odd, Cokoum. I think those exact phrases every time I must be near you or endure your lips."

XXXXX

Pocahontas securely shut the flap of leather on her wigwam, crossed the floor, and picked up some wood in order to stoke her small fire. She sighed, lay down under the light deerskin blanket, and closed her eyes. She felt emotionally drained. She didn't know how long she could pretend to be happy, how long she could handle the stress of being a prisoner within herself.

XXXXX

Trees, leaves, the hard forest ground hit her feet as she ran. The green color distorted her vision, but her feet still pounded the earth. Wind whirled in front of her, first starting to blow cold, than warming as it spun faster and faster. She halted in mid-step as, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a spinning arrow. The young woman watched, transfixed as the arrow kept spinning and spinning, faster and faster, until suddenly, it stopped.

XXXXX

Pocahontas bolted upright, the deerskin slipping off her. She opened her eyes and glanced around. She was still in her wigwam, the fire nearly out.

Pocahontas stood and restarted the fire, not being able to sleep. She sat down and waited for morning.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

_Atlantic Ocean  
Spring, 1607_

_Dear Diary,_

_Mother has gone to speak to Cal for a moment, so I have a chance to write in you. I have spent the most wonderful day with the young man who saved my life last night—Jack. Jack Dawson._

_Amazingly enough, he comes from Mother's family's estate in Cornwall. I wonder if Mother knows of his family—they were tenants on the DeWitt estate. Of course, with as little regard as she holds those lower than she, I doubt she would have paid much attention to them unless they were her personal servants or did her some harm—both of which I doubt most sincerely. Tenants are usually farmers, not house servants, and Mr. Dawson seems much too friendly and kind to be a part of family who would do harm. I could be wrong, but I don't think so._

_I must remember to call him Jack, as he prefers. Mr. Dawson seems so much more polite, but then, he is of a lower class than I, so perhaps I can call him that without upsetting too many people._

_Anyway, I sought him out to thank him this morning, and we walked around and talked for hours. He has a wonderful sense of humor—so much better than Cal's. Cal thinks I should never be exposed to bawdy jokes or bad language—not that he is averse to either himself when he is with his friends. But Jack actually told me a joke and was not at all offended when I laughed. He would enjoy the plays of Mr. Shakespeare, I am certain. I would like to meet his friend, Fabrizio, as well. He has been in the Commedia D'ell Arte—another art form I much admire. And Jack himself is quite a fine artist—he showed me his drawings. I would like to have him draw my portrait someday—his portraits are so realistic that they seem to capture a person's soul. Perhaps he could even draw me as he drew the girls of St. Giles—I blush to mention it, but such a portrait would be very different from the fine paintings that make me appear a porcelain doll. I am quite certain that Mother and Cal would never approve, however—even if the portrait was for Cal's own enjoyment._

_I hear Mother's voice in the hallway now, so I must go before she finds you._

Rose quickly put her diary back in her trunk, concealing it under the frock she had worn that day. Standing, she smoothed the skirt of her elegant burgundy gown, making sure that it draped neatly over her farthingale. She slipped her feet into her fine kidskin slippers, taking as deep a breath as her steel corset would allow.

Ruth walked into the room and looked Rose over critically, finally nodding her approval. The fine gown was a touch gaudy, as far as Ruth was concerned, but Rose wore it well, standing straight and not stumbling over her skirt as she had once done. A hint of a smile crossed Ruth's face—Rose was finally learning to be a lady. Cal would be pleased.

"You look well, Rose," Rose told her daughter approvingly. "I do wish you had chosen another color, but the red does bring out your eyes and the color in your cheeks."

"Thank you, Mother." Rose nodded her head demurely. She had only worn this gown twice on the voyage so far, but she wanted to look good tonight. After all—they had a guest. She had even pinched her cheeks and lips to bring a little extra color to them. Of course, she didn't truly have anyone to impress—she didn't care if Cal thought her beautiful or not, and certainly she wasn't casting her eyes at Jack. Such a thing was unthinkable.

"Come, Rose. We must be on time for dinner," Ruth told her, putting a hand on Rose's arm and steering her gently towards the cabin door.

Rose nodded, reaching up to touch the fine silver necklace she wore. It had been a gift from her father, given to her just before his part in the Gunpowder Plot had been discovered. Ruth had been eager to sell it to help pay the debts left after William Bukater's death—she wanted no reminders of the husband who had brought such shame upon the family. Rose, however, had wanted to keep the necklace and the other pieces of jewelry that her father had gifted her with over the years, so she had hidden them in the trunk of a hollow tree and claimed that she had lost them. Ruth had been suspicious, but there had been no way to prove that Rose was lying, and certainly the debt collectors had not been able to find them, so after sufficient time had passed, Rose had "found" the jewelry hidden in the wall of the house in London. Ruth had been furious, of course, but by that time Rose was betrothed to Cal and had threatened to simply give the jewelry to him as her dowry if her mother tried to take it from her. Cal admired fine things, whatever their origins, and would have been happy to save the jewels to decorate his bride and make himself look wealthier.

Lifting her skirts daintily, Rose followed her mother up the stairs to the governor's quarters. She smiled as she walked into the room—Jack was already there. He was leaning against a wall, watching the goings-on with interest and imitating the gestures of the noblemen when he thought no one was looking.

Rose walked over to him, her heels clicking lightly on the hardwood floor. His back was to her, so he didn't realize she was there until she cleared her throat.

He turned, blushing slightly as he realized that Rose had seen him pretending to greet a non-existent person. Rose laughed softly, curtsying to him.

He looked at a loss as to what to do for a moment, then bowed slightly and took her hand, kissing it lightly.

"I saw a nobleman greeting his favorite wh—uh…a lady that way, and always wanted to try it."

Rose smiled, lifting her head and offering to let him take her arm. She suspected she knew what he had been going to say, but she wasn't offended. She laughed lightly, looking at his attire.

He didn't have any of the fancy clothing worn by the others in the room—even Captain Smith had evening attire on—but he had obviously tried to make himself look a little better. His hair was combed and tied back neatly, and she could see in the candlelight that he had shaved away the stubble that had been on his face before—a small cut on his chin attested to the fact that shaving on board a moving ship was no easy task. He had put on shoes, too, though they were nowhere near as fancy as what the other men wore—they were flat-soled and serviceable, not like the fancy high heels so many noblemen favored. Most of the men, nobility or commoners, had taken to going barefoot most of the time—it was much easier to grip a wet, slippery deck with bare feet than with shod.

Rose looked up as Cal approached them, Ruth on his arm. He scowled slightly as he caught sight of Jack—he had been hoping that the commoner would come to his senses and avoid coming to dinner. He didn't like the way Rose looked at him and hoped to discredit him in her eyes. He knew Rose's reputation for wildness and thought that she might not realize how inappropriate it would be for her to be seen with a commoner.

Certainly the boy's attire left much to be desired—it was evidently something that he had been wearing for many days, possibly even since boarding the ship. If he was too poor to even afford a change of clothes, he certainly could not offer anything to Rose. A few members of the merchant class had nearly as much money as the nobility and might hope to win the hand of an impoverished noblewoman from a disgraced family, but young Dawson obviously wasn't one of them.

Yet Rose was looking at him admiringly, smiling as she never smiled at Cal. He didn't understand what she might see in him—besides the fact that he had saved her life, of course—and Cal was determined to find out what it was and disgrace him in his betrothed's eyes.

Ratcliffe seated himself at the head of the long table, gesturing imperiously for everyone else to follow his example. The others followed him, Jack standing uncomfortably until Smith gestured to him to sit beside him—and directly across from Rose. Cal scowled when he saw where the young man was sitting, but could do nothing about it unless he wished to change seats with him—and that would leave Jack sitting next to Rose.

Wiggins danced around the table, serving the food with a flourish. The fare was much the same as it always was, although tonight there was also fresh shark—one had been washed aboard during the storm and found entangled in the ropes that morning, dead but still fresh enough to be eaten, with enough meat on it for all aboard.

Rose smiled at Jack's look of surprise when he tasted the wine—it was evidently better than what the common men were served—probably sweeter and not yet turning to vinegar. The food, though mostly the same as what was served on a daily basis, was good—Ratcliffe insisted upon having the best, and had paid well to have a good cook on board. She doubted that the common men ate as well, but knew that everyone was partaking of the surprisingly well-prepared shark—fish had a way of going soft and developing an unpleasant odor by the time they reached the table unless caught just before being prepared.

Cal glared at Jack, wondering why the commoner hadn't had the good sense to stay away—even though he himself had invited him to dinner. He was about to make a comment about Jack's inappropriate appearance when Ruth beat him to it.

"Mr. Dawson, you may not be aware of it, but we usually dress well for these occasions." She eyed him assessingly.

Jack stared back at her for a moment, then grinned. "My apologies, Lady Bukater. I was unaware that consuming food was something done but rarely."

Wiggins snickered to himself, then hushed when Cal sent him a murderous look.

Ruth's eyes narrowed. "Even Captain Smith knows to wear appropriate attire. One would think that you would know the same."

The table quieted. John Smith was well-respected amongst these noblemen, and Ruth's remark was not well-taken.

Ruth coughed slightly, realizing her blunder. "I meant that even the good captain, who is not of the nobility, knows what occasions require—shall we say—finer attire."

"But I have served the nobility of many lands well, Lady Bukater," Smith spoke up. "Indeed, I am quite well off. Young Dawson here has scarcely a farthing to his name."

"Then he should not have come," Ruth retorted, irritated at Smith's defense of the young commoner.

"May I remind you, Mother, that Cal himself invited Mr. Dawson to dinner? Surely you don't expect him to reject such a generous invitation. After all, he did save my life, and certainly that is worth something." Rose cast Jack an apologetic look. "I, for one, am grateful for what Mr. Dawson did last night—if he had not displayed such bravery, I would not be here now. I might well be food even now for the kin of the fish we eat tonight."

"Hear, hear!" Ratcliffe raised his goblet. "To bravery—something we shall have need of in the New World, surrounded by savages and wild beasts."

Ruth and Cal raised their cups reluctantly, both trying to hide their disdain for the praise Ratcliffe was heaping upon the young man.

Ruth wasn't finished yet, though.

"Tell me, Mr. Dawson, how is you have means to travel? With scarcely a farthing to your name, how do you get about?"

"Well, I work my way from place to place—I am accounted a good sailor, and on land I can walk as far as I wish to go—or catch a ride on a cart, if I'm lucky. But I won my passage on this ship in a game of chance—a very lucky game of chance." He glanced at Rose, a smile lingering on his face. "Life is a gift, and I don't intend to waste it. You never know what the next day will bring. Why, last night I was fighting the storm, and now, here I am, having dinner with you fine people." He nodded as Wiggins offered him more of the sweet wine. "I take each day as it comes—and I make each day count."

"Well said, Dawson." Smith nodded, raising his goblet.

Rose smiled. "To making it count." The others followed her toast, except for Ruth and Cal, who stared at Jack stonily.

Rose smiled, taking a sip of wine. "It turns out that Mr. Dawson is quite the fine artist. He was kind enough to show me some of his work today."

Cal rolled his eyes, looking at Rose belittlingly. "Rose and I differ somewhat in our definition of fine art." He looked at Jack, a faint smirk on his face. "Not to impugn your work, of course."

Jack shook his head, indicating that it did not matter. He knew that Cal had dismissed his artwork without ever having seen it—largely because Rose did admire it, but also because Jack was well below the station that Cal would ever consider associating with unless he was forced to.

But he didn't care. The imperious opinion of the arrogant nobleman meant little to him, nor did the sharp words of Lady Bukater. Rose had captured his interest, and although he knew that she was forbidden to the likes of him, he couldn't help but be interested in her, in how she fared—and she did not seem terribly happy with the man she was betrothed to. He hadn't missed the way she inched away when he came close, nor the way her eyes lit with cool amusement when something occurred that made Lord Hockley look foolish.

By the end of the meal, Jack was growing tired of the conversation of the noblemen, none of whom seemed to have any interests beyond the riches of the New World and the savagery of the people occupying it. After listening to the conversation, Jack concluded that the people they would encounter in Virginia couldn't be worse than some of the bloodthirsty men surrounding him. They were covered in the trappings of nobility, but many of them were filled with as much greed and bloodlust as any of the savages they described so disparagingly. And, as none of them had met any of the people of the New World, they really had no way of knowing how friendly—or unfriendly—they would be.

When Wiggins and the cook arrived to clear away the dishes—another nicety the common men on board the ship did without—they cleaned their own dishes, or used them unwashed—the nobles dispersed, bound for whatever conversations and activities they engaged in during the evening hours.

Ratcliffe looked up with disdain at a burst of laughter from the deck outside his quarters—several men were walking by, laughing and jostling each other—but it gave Jack an idea. Looking around to be sure that Lord Hockley and Lady Bukater had already left, he approached Rose and helped her to her feet.

She smiled as he bowed deeply, kissed her hand, and then whispered, "Do you want to go to a real party?"


	12. Chapter Eleven

**COLORS OF THE WIND  
Chapter Eleven**

_Atlantic Ocean  
Spring, 1607_

Rose looked around to see if anyone was watching, then whispered, "A real party?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, with dancing, wine, and…real conversation."

She masked a smile. "You mean, you didn't find the talk at dinner to your liking?"

Jack hesitated, hoping he hadn't offended her. "Erm…I would prefer to withhold judgment on the 'savages' until we actually meet them. If you go expecting trouble, you're sure to find it."

Rose smiled, surprising him. "I must agree. None of us have ever met the people of Virginia. While it's wise to be prepared, we must also not assume they are going to harm us. They have never met us before, either…we may be a great shock to them."

Jack nodded. "I've traveled quite a ways, and what I learned was that people hardly ever match the expectations formed for them beforehand. Who would have thought that fine nobles would be so bloodthirsty?"

Rose raised an eyebrow at him, her expression clearly saying that this was nothing new to her. Her face softened after a moment, however, as she remembered that he hadn't spent much time around the nobility.

"That is true," she replied after a moment. "Mother always told me that commoners were uneducated and untrustworthy, and while some certainly do fit that description, there are many who do not…and there are some nobles who do."

She glanced around the room, but no one was left but a greasy young nobleman who had abandoned civility and was drinking the last of a flask of wine straight from the pouch. He was so deep in his cups that she doubted he would notice if she stripped off her clothing and danced about the room naked.

"So," she asked, "where is this 'real party'?"

Jack grinned, offering her an arm and leading her toward the bow.

* * *

Rose heard the music, voices, and stomping feet long before they reached the area where the common men relaxed in the evenings. Only a few candles were lit, their flames flickering in the stiff sea breeze in spite of being set in semi-protected spots, but her ears identified the sounds of a lute and a violin, both instruments she had enjoyed listening to in England. There was a rhythmic, metallic pounding sound from near the railing, and when she squinted her eyes in the darkness, she thought she recognized the tub she had attempted to wash her clothing in. She had heard the music before from within her room, and even seen the faint glow of the candles and the shadows of the men moving about, but had never had an opportunity to join in the merriment before.

A number of men were dancing, either alone or with each other, but the music and the sound of bare feet stomping on the wooden deck came to a halt as Jack brought Rose into the faint candlelight. Men gawked at her, some with resentment and more than a few with interest. Several men pounded Jack on the back as though congratulating him.

"She wanted to see what the rest of us do at the end of the day," he explained.

There were a few whistles and ribald remarks. Rose stood stiffly, staring coolly at the men who gawked at her, most of whom had seen no more than brief glimpses of the two women on board the ship—the only women any of them had seen in the six weeks since the ship had left England.

Jack tightened his hold on Rose's arm, causing a few of the men to glance at them speculatively. He looked at her, asking silently if she wanted to stay. She looked uncertain for a moment, then straightened her back and raised her chin. She knew what some of the men were thinking, but if any tried to touch her wrongly, they would soon learn that she knew a thing or two about defending herself—any young noblewoman who slipped away from her servants on the streets of London needed to know how to take care of herself.

"Why is everyone staring at me?" she asked. "I am no different from anyone else here, and I wish to hear more of that lovely music. Perhaps someone could even show me your dances…I think they are quite different from what I know."

The men continued to stare at her for a moment. Finally, Fabrizio, who had teased Jack incessantly about his interest in Rose, came to her rescue.

He clapped his hands at the three musicians. "What the lady said! Come on, bastardos!" He blushed slightly as Rose gave him a shocked look. She didn't speak Italian, but the word he had used was close enough to the matching English term that she knew what it meant. Then, taking a deep breath, he went ahead boldly. "Ah…perhaps I could have 'a the first dance?"

Jack started to protest, glaring at him, but stopped when Rose smiled and curtsied. "Of course, good sir. I would be happy to dance with you." She gave Jack an apologetic look as Fabrizio swept her into an Italian peasant dance, both of them laughing at her mistakes.

As the evening wore on, Rose was much in demand as a dance partner. Although some men would have liked to go much farther than a simple dance, many were happy just to be that close to her. Rose was pretty, energetic, and a good dancer, even if she didn't know the steps to most of the peasant dances. She was a quick learner, though, and soon knew the basics of several of the dances…especially the ones that she was asked to dance more than once.

Rose occasionally caught a glimpse of Jack's face in the candlelight, looking annoyed…he had brought her to the party, but now, it seemed, she was dancing with everyone but him.

Finally, at the end of a dance and before anyone else could claim her, Jack pushed through the crowd and took her arm. Several men who had been waiting to dance with her protested, but Jack just gave them a proprietary look and led her over to where the dregs of a barrel of wine were sitting, open to the night air. He found his cup and polished it quickly with his sleeve, then filled it and handed it to her.

Rose looked at him gratefully. She was thirsty, but she hadn't known if there was anything to drink. She took a quick sip of the wine, then grimaced, glancing at the nearly-empty barrel. The wine was sour, nearly gone to vinegar. Still, it was wet, and she was thirsty. Quickly, she gulped it down, then handed the cup back to Jack, ignoring the remarks of a few of the men as they watched her drink.

"What?" she asked as he stared at her. "Do you think a noblewoman cannot drink?"

Jack grinned, setting the cup down, and pulled her into an open spot as the musicians began again, this time playing the tune for an Irish jig. "Watch me," he told her, demonstrating the steps.

Rose watched him for a moment, then joined in, lifting her skirts so she could more easily follow his moves. He laughed, casting a quick glare at the men who were crowding close, admiring the sight of Rose's slim ankles, and increased the pace of the dance. Laughing, Rose followed him, tossing her high-heeled slippers to Tommy Ryan, who was standing nearby.

When the dance ended, Rose went to retrieve the slippers from Tommy, her eyes lighting on the forbidden cigarette he was smoking. Before he could say anything, she snatched it from his mouth and took a long drag, blowing the smoke out slowly and trying not to cough as she gave it back to him.

"I have something to show you," she announced to everyone present. A few men cheered. "Not that," she informed them coolly, then went to stand at the very point of the bow. Clearing her throat, she launched into one of her favorite scenes from her favorite play.

**_JULIET_**

_O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?  
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;  
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,  
And I'll no longer be a Capulet._

**_ROMEO_**

_Aside Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?_

**_JULIET_**

_'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;  
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.  
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,  
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part  
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!  
What's in a name? that which we call a rose  
By any other name would smell as sweet;  
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,  
Retain that dear perfection which he owes  
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,  
And for that name which is no part of thee  
Take all myself._

**_ROMEO_**

_I take thee at thy word:  
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;  
Henceforth I never will be Romeo._

**_JULIET_**

_What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night  
So stumblest on my counsel?_

**_ROMEO_**

_By a name  
I know not how to tell thee who I am:  
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,  
Because it is an enemy to thee;  
Had I it written, I would tear the word._

**_JULIET_**

_My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words  
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:  
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?_

**_ROMEO_**

_Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike._

**_JULIET_**

_How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?  
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,  
And the place death, considering who thou art,  
If any of my kinsmen find thee here._

**_ROMEO_**

_With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;  
For stony limits cannot hold love out,  
And what love can do that dares love attempt;  
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me._

**_JULIET_**

_If they do see thee, they will murder thee._

**_ROMEO_**

_Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye  
Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,  
And I am proof against their enmity._

**_JULIET_**

_I would not for the world they saw thee here._

**_ROMEO_**

_I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;  
And but thou love me, let them find me here:  
My life were better ended by their hate,  
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love._

**_JULIET_**

_By whose direction found'st thou out this place?_

**_ROMEO_**

_By love, who first did prompt me to inquire;  
He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.  
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far  
As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,  
I would adventure for such merchandise._

**_JULIET_**

_Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,  
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek  
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night  
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny  
What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!  
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'  
And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,  
Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries  
Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,  
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:  
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,  
I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,  
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.  
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,  
And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:  
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true  
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.  
I should have been more strange, I must confess,  
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,  
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,  
And not impute this yielding to light love,  
Which the dark night hath so discovered._

**_ROMEO_**

_Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear  
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--_

**_JULIET_**

_O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,  
That monthly changes in her circled orb,  
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable._

**_ROMEO_**

_What shall I swear by?_

**_JULIET_**

_Do not swear at all;  
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,  
Which is the god of my idolatry,  
And I'll believe thee._

She spoke both the woman's role and the man's, reasoning to herself that if a man could play a woman's part, why could a woman not play a man's? Even if it wasn't on a real stage, even if she would never be allowed on a real stage, she still had an audience and could still enact a scene from her favorite play.

The men applauded when she finished, some glancing at Jack and making ribald remarks, having noted that Rose's gaze strayed to Jack at the declarations of love.

Rose bowed, enjoying the applause and wishing she really could go on the stage. She smiled at Fabrizio when he shouted, "Bravo! Bravo! You should 'a be on the stage!"

Several men turned from teasing Jack to teasing Fabrizio.

"A woman cannot be on the stage," one commented.

"Yes," added another. "'Tis hard enough to make women know their places as it is. If they were to go on stage, there would be no controlling them."

"You think a woman's place is under your skinny body," Jack told him, coming to Rose's defense and drawing laughter from most of the men within earshot.

"He's never had a woman," Tommy added, bringing more laughter from the gathered men.

Rose, whose ears were not nearly so innocent as her mother and betrothed believed, joined in the laughter. "And Lady Rose will not be his first!" she exclaimed. Some of the men cheered, a few raising their cups appreciatively.

"I would watch her on the stage any day!" Fabrizio added.

"As would I," Jack said, raising his cup. "To Lady Rose!"

There was a chorus of cheers from the men. "To Lady Rose!"

Rose continued to stand at the bow, basking in the glow of appreciation.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**COLORS OF THE WIND  
Chapter Twelve**

Later that night, Jack walked Rose back to the entranceway to her quarters. She was beaming, having enjoyed the evening far more than she enjoyed any of the stiff, formal dinners with the other members of the nobility. To be sure, many of the men had looked at her as though imagining what she might look like unclothed, but in that they were no different from some of the noblemen aboard the ship, who looked at her and her mother in the same way—but were more subtle about it.

When they reached the entrance, they stopped, leaning against the railing and looking out over the dark sea and the night sky, lit only by a quarter moon and a vast number of stars—far more than Rose had ever seen in the night sky over London, where the smoke from thousands of fires and the rickety buildings tilting over the alleyways obscured the sky.

"I had a lovely time, Jack," Rose told him. "You certainly do know how to hold a real party."

"It wouldn't have been the same without you," he assured her. "Usually we men just drink, play music, dance with each other, and tell bawdy stories—most of them lies."

"I noticed."

"We were actually much more civilized tonight…it's not often there's a lady around. You're prettier than any of them any day."

"Even in the candlelight?"

He laughed. Rose could be rather bawdy herself.

"Oh, look!" Rose pointed towards the sky. "A shooting star!"

"That was a long one. My father used to say that a shooting star was a soul going to heaven."

"I like that…though I do hope it is not a soul from this ship." Rose crossed herself quickly. "We should wish on it."

Jack smiled. "What would you wish for?"

Rose started to reply, then stopped. "Something I cannot have."

He started to ask again, but thinking twice, he changed the subject, telling her, "You would make a great actor if women were allowed on the stage."

Rose turned, looking at him in surprise. "My thanks, Jack." She turned back to looking out over the ocean. "Women should be on the stage. It would be easy for us. So much of our lives are nothing but acting, pretending to be something we are not. Perhaps that is why men will not allow women on the stage…we would overshadow them."

Jack nodded, sensing that she was talking about herself more than anyone else. "You don't belong with them."

"Pardon me?"

"You don't belong with them, with the nobility. You make me think of a changeling, a baby left in the place of the noble child your parents expected."

Rose laughed a little, acknowledging the truth of his words, then looked sad. "Changeling or not, I was brought up to be a noblewoman, and that is my life, whether I wish it so or not."

Changing the subject again, Jack said, "We should reach Virginia in a fortnight, perhaps less if the winds are with us. What are you hoping to find there?"

Rose shrugged, glancing at his face in the darkness before looking back out over the sea. "Cal has mentioned gold. He believes there are great riches to be found there."

"Perhaps there are. The Spanish explorers had many tales and brought great riches to their land."

"What d'you hope to find there, Jack?"

"I don't know. Adventure, I hope. It is a new world, filled with strange people, mysterious beasts, and landscapes that even the great explorers have not seen. I would like to draw them, to show the people in England what the New World is like. I have heard tales of what has been found there…I would like to see it for myself."

Rose listened longingly, picturing the strange and amazing things a person might see in the New World—if they were free to explore.

"I would like to see those things, too…the people, the animals, the mysterious landscapes and beautiful flowers. I am certain there is ugliness, too, for there always is…but I still wish to see it."

"You will."

"A little bit of it, perhaps…I know that I will not be allowed to explore as I wish, and Cal does not believe a lady should accompany men on their explorations. But perhaps I can see your drawings, and you can tell me about what you've seen. In that way, I might see it, too, even if we only ever just talk about it."

"We will both see them, Rose—I promise. If you truly wish to explore, you will find a way—and I will help you if I can."

Rose smiled sadly at him in the darkness. "It is a lovely thought, but—make no promises you cannot keep, Jack. I know Cal and the other members of the nobility. You do not."

Jack leaned closer to her. "I will—"

They stepped away from each other, startled, as the shadowy figure of a man with a candle approached.

"It is Wiggins," Rose whispered. "Cal must have sent him to find me. Good night, Jack."

Before Jack could say another word, she hurried inside, leaving him looking after her. After a moment, he turned and looked back over the sea, lost in thought.


End file.
